Thursday, 27 November 2014

Delhi tonight.

I think Dubai was a whirlwind for Caleb. It was supposed to be the second longest leg of his trip but instead he booked a half day trip to Agra to see the Taj and so sliced a day off the Emirates besides. He will not cut into his week in the Canaries no matter what. He's going to need it. He sounded appreciative but exhausted when I told him just before our conference call began that under the desk I only had underwear and thigh-high rumpled socks on (credit to Lords of Salem. I have a dozen pairs and hadn't worn them much lately but I am now) because I didn't have time to find pants in the dark but sorry if we're going to do this shit in the middle of the night thanks to his time difference then I wasn't going to be at a hundred percent. I was wearing a nice shirt (Lochlan's plain blue flannel button-down from yesterday) and I managed to flatten my pixie enough to be presentable and I asked again why I needed to be present for a strategy update and he laughed and said because I was in underwear and socks, that's why and he loves the fact that I'm committed to making sure he misses me so much he aches.

Which brought a halt to everything as I killed the call and called him privately for a health update. If he says something 'aches' then something is wrong and I knew I should have gone. I wish he hadn't gone at all and I wish he would give in already and let technology take the place of shaking people's hands.

He assured me he is tired but fine and he's going to sleep on a beach for the entire first week of December.

(Did I say I should have gone? Yeah. I should have gone. That sounds nice.)

He reestablished the call and our parties were there waiting. I had to pinch my legs to keep from falling asleep and only contributed two questions to the whole thing but they were smart questions and Caleb looked proud and then finally it was finished and I could go back across the driveway (I need to have it loud so I took the call at the Boathouse) and book upstairs to crawl up the center of my bed, passing out cold (no, literally) on top of the quilts.

This morning Ben proclaimed that my outfit was to be considered pajamas from here on out and I am to come to bed like that forever because wow.

Lords of Salem, I reminded him.

I know. Oh, how I know. he said

Lochlan, ever suspicious and rightly so, asked me where my pants were. He's been difficult the past two days. Beyond difficult. (Level 12 difficulty, actually. I function at an 8 or so, if rested. Which I'm not.)

So I told him I didn't wear any and he asked how I got across the driveway half-dressed, in the dark, in the rain. So I told him.

The same way I always do. Quickly.

It was over chowder at lunch time before he actually spoke to me again. It's fine. I lasted until afternoon coffee before I replied back.